


Cloak

by babel



Category: Rome
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-08
Updated: 2010-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:03:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babel/pseuds/babel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Antony finds the body, and it is not what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloak

Antony drops off the side of his horse. The ground is jarringly solid against the soles of his feet.

"Stop," he says as he approaches. Quietly first, then he grabs the soldier's wrist and growls, "Stop."

The soldier looks as if he's shit himself. "But, sir. You ordered his head--"

"I've changed my mind. If that's _all right_ with you."

"Of course, sir, my ap--"

"Go." Antony releases his wrist and listens to him scurry away. He considers, for a moment, asking the soldier's name so that he can have him beaten later. But the soldier did nothing wrong, really. Antony is just in a mood for a violence more personal than battle. He will fuck some slave boy raw later; get this out of his system.

He stands still for a moment, some sort of emotion threatening at the back of his mind. Not any of the emotions he'd expected. None of it is as he'd expected.

He kicks aside one of the corpses that covers the one he is after, then he kneels down to push away another until nothing but dusty sunlight touched it -- this particular body.

It does not look like Brutus. He knows it is, but it does not look like him. Not because it is so pale now; not because it is so bloodless that it looks delicate as spiderweb. Not even because it has been stabbed so many times that it hardly looks like a person at all.

But because it's caked with dirt. Because it's on a battlefield. Because its hands are the only part of him not stained red. Even where a finger has been cut, it is not red.

Antony does not remember ever seeing Brutus wearing a ring, but he must have been. Someone must have taken it. Some disgusting dog-spawn parasite must have taken the hand and cut it at the joint to get at that little bit of gold.

Serves him right, Antony reminds himself. This has been what Brutus deserved from the moment he first _considered_ murdering Caesar. This is poetic, really. Someone should write a poem about it. Perhaps that girlish creature that Octavian keeps with him.

But Caesar was on the Senate floor, and Brutus is here, in the dirt. Brutus is sprawled out under the sun, his head cocked just so that he seems to be looking up at Antony, one eye stuck half-closed while the other is wide and frightened. They don't really look like eyes anymore, though, so Antony cannot even imagine that they see him.

"You've found it," Octavian says, somewhere above him. His voice is as jarring and solid as the earth.

"Should we take him back to display, do you think?" Antony asks, his voice quiet.

"No. The people still love the name Brutus too well for that."

"Respect, then. " Antony stands, snapping at the soldier and ordering him to retrieve his cloak. "We'll seem more honorable that way."

"This battle was about nothing but honor."

"Maybe if you say that enough..." Antony smirks, but his eyes are still fixed on the corpse. "It will come true."

Octavian's horse snorts and prances in place.

____________________________

It was years ago. Before Gaul. Before Antony himself was much of anyone except the troublemaker son of an inept orator who had gotten himself killed. Brutus, on the other hand, was always someone. Would always be someone, no matter how unimportant he tried to make himself.

That was at least half of the reason that Antony liked taking him to bed. Something about bending over someone that fucking important and making him moan and gasp and, every so often, cry out.

Brutus was lying on the bed watching him, as he always did, with his head cocked just so. Like a curious rodent more than a man watching another man undress with the intention of fucking him. It would be difficult to tell by his expression if Brutus understood the sexuality of the situation at all, but his cock was already half erect with anticipation. Antony stood still, watching him for a long moment with an amused smile. Brutus was such a strange creature, but there was something attractive in that.

"Turn over," Antony said.

"I'd really rather not tonight."

Antony arched an eyebrow, ignoring the tiny rise of anger behind the amusement. "What do you mean?"

"Not that..." Brutus rolled his eyes. "I do not wish to do it _that way_ tonight. You always want to do it that way."

"Is there another way with a man?"

"Come here," Brutus said with a sigh. He guided Antony down, between his legs, pausing only for a moment when their cocks brushed together. "Prepare me." He handed Antony the jar of scented olive oil and arched up so that Antony could slide his fingers under him, into his ass.

"Giving more orders than usual tonight," Antony said, even as he did what Brutus asked.

Brutus closed his eyes as his cock swelled from Antony's touch. And even still, his voice was calm. Almost bored. "We don't have to do this at all, if you do not like my manner."

"You want this just as much as I do."

Brutus pressed his lips together, then, "That's enough. Now, push my legs back a bit. Like you would with a woman, but a bit further, obviously."

Antony chuckled under his breath. "Yes, _sir_." He slid his hand down Brutus's thigh until he found the crook of his knee and pushed it up as Brutus adjusted himself beneath him. Antony took his own cock in his hand and watched Brutus's face as, slowly, he guided it into Brutus's body.

It was strange, to see him that way. When Antony could only see his back and his ass as they fucked, he seemed just as cold as usual. But now, Antony could see the way Brutus's brow knit as Antony entered him. He could see how dark and intense Brutus's eyes were when Antony paused and Brutus looked up at him, almost begging for him to continue.

But not begging, not quite, because seeing Brutus this way also reminded Antony that Brutus was still Brutus, even while they were fucking. And he was still more a noble than Antony would ever be.

When they were finished, Antony lay on his back, panting, with Brutus's semen smeared on his belly. As he listened to Brutus's slow, steady breaths, something unsettling was growing in the back of his mind. He did not want to know what it was.

____________________________

Antony was not surprised that Caesar welcomed Brutus back so easily after Pompey had been defeated. But there was still a silent anger raging inside of him when he saw Brutus and Cicero, his friend in cowardice and treachery, sit at the table with them, as though they belonged amongst Romans.

Antony knew they would make lovely decorations for the common people, and that was all that truly saved them. Antony knew that treating them as though they belonged was to Caesar's advantage. But it did not cool his anger, it only motivated him to hide it.

"You are discontent, Antony," Caesar said, later, when they were alone in Caesar's tent.

"Only something unsavory at dinner that has left me unwell, I assure you."

Caesar smiled, but Antony could see some plan glistening in his eyes. "I appreciate your unease. I share it. After all that has happened, it may be difficult, if not impossible, to return old friendships to the way they were before."

"I was never particular friends with either of them," Antony said, watching a beetle crawl near Caesar's chair.

"That is unfortunate. Brutus can be an especially gratifying friend when he wishes it."

Antony furrowed his brow, watching Caesar closely. Trying to read him. Trying to decide if he was implying what Antony thought he was.

"You should visit him." Caesar moved his foot so that it covered the beetle like a blanket before he crushed its body into the ground. "Tonight, after he's had some rest."

Antony smirked, but his dinner had gone sour in his stomach.

____________________________

Brutus was not asleep when Antony entered his tent. He was, instead, lying on the bed, curled up on his side like a child. His eyes flicked up at Antony, but he didn't move. Didn't even bother to feign dignity.

"Didn't think I'd see you again," Antony said, as if it were light conversation. "But I should've known you were the sort to grovel."

"Is your company my punishment?"

Antony laughed, too loudly. "None of that." He knelt next to Brutus's bed -- the bed that Caesar had supplied him while loyal men slept on the ground. "Be that other Brutus. The one you are while others are around... The one who isn't quite such an ass. The one who is at least passably friendly with me."

"I would need more wine for that. Leave me be." Brutus closed his eyes, as if to sleep.

"I'm afraid I can't," Antony whispered, and he kissed Brutus.

The kiss was bristled by the few day's growth on both of their faces. Antony remembered that, the first time they kissed, Brutus had not yet grown his first beard. That he had teased him about how smooth his face was when Antony, the younger of them, had been shaving for years.

When Antony pulled back, he could see that Brutus's breath was coming more quickly. He would have felt satisfied, but his own body was responding to the memory of old touches too. Or maybe it was just that he hadn't fucked anyone in several nights. Either way, he drew himself up onto Brutus's bed, pushing Brutus back so he could lie on top of him.

"Antony... Antony, stop." Brutus pushed weakly against Antony's shoulders.

They were both only in tunics, so it was easy enough for Antony to discard first his own underclothing, then Brutus's, and rub his cock against Brutus's naked thigh.

"Stop it." Brutus's voice was more desperate now. "_Go._ Leave me."

Antony thrust upward, hard, so that his own thigh pressed against Brutus's cock. Brutus choked back a moan, and he dug his fingertips hard into Antony's shoulder. His grip was shockingly strong. Strong enough that Antony was sure he'd have bruises by morning.

But as strong as it was, Antony was stronger. He twisted himself free and pinned Brutus's wrists down in one violent motion. He wanted to get Brutus on his hands and knees, fuck him so hard that he bled, but he knew he didn't have the patience for that just now. Later, maybe. For now, he found the crevice where Brutus's thigh met his hip and he jerked himself back and forth against it until the pleasure blinded him. Then, he took Brutus's cock in his hand and stroked it, massaging the tip with his thumb, until Brutus's body spasmed and his semen ran down Antony's knuckles.

Antony hovered over Brutus, gasping for breath, sweat stinging his eyes. He wiped his hand across Brutus's chest before he pushed himself up off the bed. His legs were unsteady beneath him, but he refused to show it.

Brutus was staring straight up at the folds of the tent above him. He was only trembling slightly, but Antony could see it.

Finally, Brutus asked. "Now, will you go?"

Antony laughed.

____________________________

The first time was when Antony was barely a man, and Brutus was not much older. Antony knew him before that, but not well. Only well enough to know that Brutus was more outgoing when he was younger, but that he'd turned into a haughty shadow of his mother sometime after he'd turned sixteen. After that, he was only friendly with a chosen few and only outgoing when he was incredibly drunk.

He'd been drunk that night, when Antony cornered him at a party. They were outside, where anyone could have caught them, but Antony kissed him anyway. He was surprised that it wasn't much different than kissing a girl. Except that no girl he'd kissed ever kneed him in the groin and ran off afterward.

Still, the kiss itself had been intoxicating enough that Antony had tried again only a few days later. And that time, Brutus let him.

But it was the first kiss that Antony thought of whenever he fucked Brutus after he returned from Alexandria. The first time, he had left himself open and unguarded then because it seemed so unlike Brutus to fight back.

After that, he left himself open and unguarded because that was the last time Brutus did anything Antony did not expect from him.

He expected that Brutus would be quieter after Pompey's defeat, and he was. He expected that Brutus would be more passive, and he was.

When he sent for him, he expected Brutus to come, he did. And he sat on Antony's bed, watching him like he always did. His head was bent and his elbows are resting on his knees. His eyebrows were raised high so that he could see Antony, and it drove a track of lines into his forehead. He looked both old and young at the same time that way. Both innocent and world-weary. Antony always liked that mix in him. He cupped Brutus's cheek and Brutus looked up at him with eyes so big and round and empty that it did not seem possible that he was not a child.

It suddenly occurred to Antony to ask, and he didn't stop himself before he did.

"Has Caesar fucked you?"

Something changed in Brutus's expression, and for a moment, his eyes weren't so empty. "Why are you asking me that?"

Antony shrugged. "Has he?"

Brutus wet his lips and tilted his head back, away from Antony's hand.

"I guess that's a yes."

"Only when I was a boy." A tendon twitched in Brutus's jaw.

Antony smiled as if pleased with himself and grasped the back of Brutus's head to pull him closer. He could feel Brutus's breath against belly, just over his cock. "Must be why he favors you so much."

"No, it's not," Brutus said through his teeth.

"I suppose that he'll favor Octavian now, if the rumor is..."

Antony stopped, realizing suddenly that Brutus's breath had gotten faster, harder. At first, he thought that talk of Caesar was turning him on, but when he looked at Brutus's face, it wasn't arousal that he saw. Brutus was staring forward, his eyes glassy, and his jaw was clenched so tight that his mouth was locked in a grimace.

"What's wrong with you?"

Brutus closed his eyes, and his breath slowed. "I do not wish..." He looked up at Antony, his eyelashes wet, but his cheeks dry. "What do you want from me?"

Something was different, but Antony could not place what it was. Brutus was quiet, as Antony expected. Brutus was sad and defeated and passive, as Antony expected. It was, by all appearances, as it should have been.

"What do you want?" Brutus whispered again, his voice cold and dead. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Antony's stomach. "I cannot tell anymore. Please. Tell me."

Outside, the wind was picking up, and there was some plant tapping an inconsistent rhythm against the wall. "There will be a storm tonight," Antony said.

He could feel Brutus's eyelashes flutter against his skin.

"You should stay tonight. It won't be safe to walk in it." He paused. "Unless you'd rather go now."

Brutus shook his head, then he kissed Antony's stomach, then bent to kiss lower.

By the time the thunder began to growl in the black night sky, Antony was spent, and Brutus was sleeping soundly on his arm.

____________________________

Antony read it three times, and each time, he was surprised to see Brutus's name carefully written at the end.

Brutus was always smiling in the Senate. The smile of a man who had no room to make any argument, because he himself had betrayed the principles of both sides. The smile of a man who had Cicero's treachery in his ear, but was apathetic to it. Apathetic enough that he did nothing but calmly watch as Antony crushed Cicero's hands, though Cicero was one of his few true friends left.

"He could not have written this," Antony muttered to himself.

But Caesar heard it. "He didn't."

Antony blinked up at Caesar. "You're certain."

"This is confrontation," Caesar said, neatly folding the paper. "Confrontation is not Brutus's way. Someone else put his name to this. I am sure that I know who, and she knows that I cannot take action against her."

Antony thought of the first time he kissed Brutus, but put the thought out of his head. That was a long time ago. "Will you do nothing then?" he asked.

"I will write a reply. But nothing overt can be done to the true author... Tell me. Are you and Brutus still friends?"

"As you said, he can be gratifying when he wants to be."

The trace of a smile touched Caesar's lips. "Yes. I think that it would be best for you to keep him particularly close now. I realize that you have other friends, but I am concerned that this unpleasantness between Brutus and myself may lead him to seek the counsel of those who would mislead him."

"He's not an idiot. He knows that he can't go against you, even if he was the sort."

"Do not underestimate the hold his mother has over him." Caesar's voice was quiet, but it filled the room. "Brutus believes in appearances above all things. She could twist his mind into anything if he is left only to her and her cohorts."

Antony frowned, sensing a deeper story somewhere in the background that he would never fully comprehend and which would never be told. "As you wish. I'll see to it."

"But wait until after he apologizes to me and denies his involvement. I would not want your friendliness to be seen as acceptance."

"Of course," Antony said, his eyes once again tracing Brutus's name written in straight, perfect letters.

____________________________

Brutus moaned, thrusting helplessly against Antony's hand as they came together. And he moaned again, more quietly, and leaned his back into Antony's chest when they were finished. Antony curled his arm around Brutus in return, holding him close for a moment.

Weakly, Brutus laughed. Antony felt it more than he heard it. "I think that was a good enough way to end it."

"What are you talking about?" Antony asked, already half-asleep.

Brutus turned onto his back, fixing his eyes on the ceiling. "I am quite in love with you, I think. We cannot do this any longer."

Antony stomach twisted at those words. But he wasn't sure which words bothered him. "Those sentences don't fit together."

"I think you know that they do," Brutus said, smiling his usual ironic smile. "Besides, you are getting along with Atia again, are you not? I am sure that you would rather spend more nights with her instead of reserving a few for me each month."

"Is this some form of jealousy?"

Brutus silently laughed again. "I assure you it is not."

"We can't end it," Antony said, letting anger touch his voice.

"Because you were told not to end it?" Brutus smiled at Antony's frown. "Do not concern yourself. I do not need to be swayed, and Caesar need not know that you've stopped."

Antony shook his head, drawing away from Brutus. "I doubt that. You guess each other's actions so often that I think your minds are connected some way."

"If that is so, then he will know that I ended it despite your best efforts."

"Regardless." Antony trailed his hand down Brutus's side to rest it on his waist. He fixed his eyes on Brutus's. "I don't want it to end."

"It is not your choice to make." He slid away from Antony's touch and off the bed to gather his clothing.

Antony clenched his now empty hand into a fist. "Do you really want to stop, or has someone given you a reason to?"

"That is a complex question."

"Is it?"

Brutus glanced at him. "I am sorry, Antony, if my choice has deprived you of some sort of pleasure, but do not act as if I have injured you. Do not act as if this affects your heart as it does mine."

"I don't mean to," Antony said, his eyes narrowing with a smile. "But I do question that you have any heart to affect. I question that you are anything more than a toy, moved by others so that you might seem real, but motionless when you are alone."

"Feel free to question. I could not fault you for it." Brutus's voice was quiet, some emotion threatening behind it.

"Of course you couldn't." Antony sank his head into his pillow and closed his eyes. "Go on, then."

Antony listened to Brutus dress, and then to his footsteps as they disappeared.

____________________________

Brutus was alone. Antony had been informed that Cassius left, quietly and under guard, to gather his own affairs before they left the city, and Servilia had disappeared somewhere inside the house, away from Brutus. Antony was sure that she was giving some sign of disapproval that her son was, once again, running away.

The servants seemed to have been instructed to let him pass, because they did not try to stop him.

Brutus did not raise his bowed head when Antony entered the room where the family slaves were packing his things. "You came."

"You expected me."

"Yes." Brutus stood and walked past Antony to the next room, an empty room, and Antony followed him. "You do realize that the rest of them wanted to kill you."

"But not Honorable Brutus. Do you regret it now?"

Brutus's eyes narrowed, as if trying to determine his answer. "You must know why he had to die."

"So that other ambitious men may live." Antony shook his head, smiling. "I told him you weren't an idiot. Guess I was mistaken."

"The Republic--"

Antony struck, fast as a snake, grabbing Brutus's shoulders and shoving him into the wall. "Don't. Don't talk to me about the fucking Republic. Your bitch mother wanted revenge on Caesar; that's all it was."

"You are wrong," Brutus said, his voice shockingly calm. "If anything, love had my mother blinded to Caesar's faults before."

"And it blinded you too?"

"Yes."

"Did it blind you again? Is that why I am still alive?"

Brutus swallowed thickly. "You broke no law."

"And if I become a tyrant?" He leaned close, whispering into Brutus's ear. "If I do, will you come back and kill me? Will you look me in the eye and cut into me? Will you cry and shake like a child afterward?"

Brutus turned his head to look Antony in the eye. There was a tear on Brutus's cheek, but his voice was still calm when he said, "Yes. I would."

"I think that your friends would do better without your love, Brutus."

"Perhaps--" Brutus's voice caught, betraying him. "Perhaps you're right."

Antony ran his fingers up into Brutus's hair. Brutus was watching him, as he always did, as if waiting for something. As if imagining something that wasn't there -- maybe a different life. There did not seem to be any evil there. There did not seem to be any violence. He did not look like a man who had killed someone he thought of as a father.

The first time they kissed, Antony had held Brutus against a wall as he did now. He'd pressed his lips hard against Brutus's. He remembered the way Brutus's breath quickened. He remembered the way Brutus trembled. He remembered that, in the moment just after, Brutus had stared at him, as if wondering what he should do, and then his eyes had flicked away just before he kicked at Antony and ran.

Antony wondered, suddenly, if someone had seen them. If Brutus had only fought because someone there had expected him to.

"Who are you?" Antony whispered.

But Brutus did not give an answer. Antony had not expected one.

____________________________

Antony finds himself thinking, as he stands over the corpse, that Cassius must have fucked Brutus before the end. It seems likely. A man like Cassius would have difficulty turning away a man like Brutus -- Antony should know -- and Brutus was never good at standing on his own.

Cassius must have died first. What was Brutus like in that time between Cassius's death and his own? Antony cannot imagine.

"Sir."

The soldier holds out Antony's cloak, as he'd ordered. It was expensive, but it's subtle. The sort of thing a Junius might wear.

"Wrap the body in it and bring it to camp," Antony says as he turns back to his horse. "Anyone who touches it will answer to me."

"I did not expect such sentiment from you," Octavian says flatly.

Antony laughs. "I don't give a fuck what you expected."

Octavian says nothing. He just jerks at his reigns, and his horse turns with an angry shake of its head before it trots away. Antony waits until the little bastard is out of sight before he looks back to Brutus's body.

Back to the glass eyes that blindly stare at him from somewhere just barely inside the underworld.

"And close his eyes," Antony orders, and he pulls himself back up into his saddle.


End file.
